


Scylla and Charybdis Meet in a Bar (June 2015)

by liz_marcs



Series: Distant Voices [5]
Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Future Fic, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Post-Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-18 18:42:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13106235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liz_marcs/pseuds/liz_marcs
Summary: (Britta) Right about now she’d give her left tit to have scotch-snob Jeff back. Scotch-snob Jeff actually cared about shit, no matter how many times he claimed he didn’t.





	Scylla and Charybdis Meet in a Bar (June 2015)

**Author's Note:**

> Annie Edison, Britta Perry, Jeff Winger, Frankie Dart, and all associated characters and organizations are the property of Krasnoff/Foster Entertainment, Dan Harmon Productions, Russo Brothers Films, Universal Television, and Sony Pictures Television. Any mention of real life events and real people is not meant to imply that the people or incidents in question as they are used in the story have any relationship to reality. All original characters and the plot are mine. No payment was asked for or received in the writing of this story and no profit was earned. No copyright infringement is intended.

Britta’s scrubbing down the bar in a desperate effort to make it less sticky when _he_ walks in.

 _Oh, crap! Crap!_ Britta thinks when she sees his high forehead, pointy nose, and sarcastic smile heading straight for her.

It’s the sarcastic smile that tells her that she’s about to get a raft of verbal _shit_.

Britta is 100% sure that Annie narced her out. Jeff’s never going let her to hear the _end_ of it. Annie is _dead_ when she gets back from Scum City. She should have known this was going to happen when she saw Annie regress back into schoolgirl-with-a-crush-on-Jeff in that week before she left.

Fucking Annie. So much for the sisterhood.

As Jeff settles onto a stool, his grin widens. “Soooooo, summer school girl…” he begins.

Britta huffily defends herself. “It’s Annie’s fault.”

Jeff’s eyebrows jump halfway up his forehead in surprise. “Annie? What does she have to do with it?”

Oh. Annie _didn’t_ narc her out. Hunh. Looks like Annie meant it when she said, “Babes before Blades.”

“What do you want, Jeff?” Britta asks as she gestures at the bottles behind her.

Jeff makes a vague wave in the direction of the scotches as he answers. “Dropped by for two reasons, but the main one can wait. So, I’ll start with the lesser reason. I spotted you marching across the quad wearing your backpack and sporting a murderous look in your eye. That’s pretty much the international signal of ‘I’m a summer school student who’d rather be anywhere else.’”

“Yeah, well. I’d like to cut some time off my sentence, your honor,” Britta says as she considers the scotch options. “At the rate I’m going, I’ll have enough credits to leave prison when I’m north of 40.”

“Your plea bargain is accepted, but now I’m confused by the sudden appearance and subsequent disappearance of an accomplice. First you blame Annie, now you’re claiming it’s your idea.” Jeff’s smile sharpens. “Taking all evidence into account, not to mention your history of sinking classes to the point that a B is an impossible dream, this smells more like an Edison move than a Perry scam.”

“Fuck you, Winger,” Britta says without heat as she snatches an off-brand Islay that’s more in-line with Jeff’s financial realities off the shelf.  She knows Jeff prefers highland scotches, but everything she’s got in stock falls on the pricey side. Drop an ice cube or two in the glass and he won’t know the difference.

_You’re also assuming he cares at this point._

The unbidden thought sends a wave of sadness through her while she pours the scotch. There was a time when Jeff could spend a hours explaining in excruciating detail in how to prepare scotch for consumption, based on its geographical source, age, and distillery. It drove her _crazy_ to the point that she called him a Boozehound Abed back when they were dating. That little incident led to one of their biggest fights, resulting in no booty calls for a week and that _ridiculous_ secondary Valentine’s Day fight over the Barenaked Ladies that involved the entire study group.

Right about now she’d give her left tit to have scotch-snob Jeff back. Scotch-snob Jeff actually cared about shit, no matter how many times he claimed he didn’t.

She slides the iced-up scotch in Jeff’s general direction. To her surprise, he doesn’t immediately snatch it up.

Instead, his sharp grin fades as he regards her more seriously. “What prompted the summer school decision? Is it because everyone’s leaving?”

The unspoken “me” after “leaving” is loud enough to echo through the bar.

Christ. The last thing she needs is for Jeff to go on that emotional whirlpool thing he does when his Abandonment Issues kick into high gear. Besides, she made a vow after her Garrett’s Wedding Realization. No more falling into the role of carrying other people’s baggage, _especially_ if those people are named Winger.

Britta casually shrugs, hoping her attitude will avert any scenario where she’d be forced to toss his ass into oncoming traffic as an alternative to getting sucked into the role of Jeff’s baggage-handler. Again. “I’m just taking the one class. Like I said, this is totally Annie’s fault.”

She knows she’s avoided the rocky shoals when Jeff’s shoulders relax. “So you said. I’m pretty sure the word ‘no’ is in your vocabulary.”

Britta throws up her hands. “She gave me a _look_.”

“Which one? The ‘please-sir-may-I-have-some-more’ look? The ‘my-puppy-has-cancer’ look? Or the ‘I’m-a-heartbroken-Disney-Princess-and-I’m-at-that-part-in-the-movie-where-all-my-hopes-and-dreams-have-been-smashed-right-before-my-eyes’ look?”

“There’s a _difference_?” Britta incredulously asks. “Wait. Wrong question. How can _you_ tell the difference?”

Jeff picks up his Scotch and studies the contents almost as if his life depends on it. “The difference is in the amount of unshed tears. The shinier the eyes, the more serious _the look_.” He takes a long sip from his scotch, but doesn’t spare Britta a glance.

Jeff’s whole Avoidance Thing makes Britta wonder just how often and how recently he’s seen ‘heartbroken Disney Princess.’ It’s not something she even wants to think about, let alone talk about, so she misdirects.

“Yeah, well, it’s none of those. This one is _worse_.”

Jeff laughs at that and finally looks at her. “Oh, hell. You got a dose of the ‘I-know-you’re-better-than-this’ look. And you let _that_ get to you?”

“Well, she’s never given me that look before!” Britta protests as she snatches up her bar rag to return to scrubbing. “Then there was, ugh, hugging. And her butterflies voice. And then she put me on a _budget_ and developed my _summer plan_. God! She was worse than…than…I don’t know what she was worse than. Do you know she even has me on a budget for my _weed_? I can only spend so much a week, and if I smoke it all on Monday, that’s too bad! Wait until next week!”

“And yet, you’re still doing it. Summer school, weed budget, and all,” Jeff says.

Britta’s shoulders slump. “I want to get out from under my parents financial thumb, but for realsies this time.”

“So why go to Annie for help?” Jeff asks. “Shirley’s the one with a head for business. Wouldn’t she be a better option?”

“Well, yeah. But Shirley’s tough to get ahold of these days. And Annie’s actually a pretty good option in her own right, plus she was actually available.”

Jeff’s forehead crunches in confusion. “I’m pretty sure I’ve heard Annie and Abed talking about how tight their budget was after Troy moved out, so I still don’t see how—”

“Okay, they’re not rolling in it,” Britta interrupts. “But despite everything, Abed and Annie were never in danger of getting evicted, mostly because Abed and Troy ceded all the money decisions to Annie the second she moved in. Turns out she’s a genius at it. I’m pretty sure she’s got every second-hand store within a 10-mile radius on speed dial. And I swear she’s, like, psychic when it comes to sensing when a sale’s about to happen.”

“Is it bad that I’m afraid you’re about to follow that up with a Pierce-like comment that would result in Annie yelling that you need to say the whole word?” Jeff asks.

“And coupons,” Britta continues without acknowledging the frankly _insulting_ insinuation Jeff is tossing out there, because she is on a roll about the horrors that Annie put her through while setting up The Budget. “ _Do not ask her about the coupons_. Ever. Next thing you know, she’ll be showing off not just the coupon collection, but explaining her filing system for the coupons _in painful detail_ so you, too, can clip, file, and easily retrieve the coupons. She’s got this really unhealthy _thing_ about coupons. I’m 100% sure she’s got some deep-seated childhood trauma involving coupon loss. Can you be addicted to coupons? I’m pretty sure you can. I’m thinking I might want to write a paper about it for some psych class in the future, but that would require me to ask questions. About coupons. Which, honestly? Scares the ever-loving _crap_ out of me. So maybe not. All I can say is that Annie is really, really terrifying when it comes to coupons. More terrifying than that time she caught Pierce putting a bow tie on that pig in the men’s bathroom as part of that Yom Kippur prank he was planning.”

Jeff blinks. “Given this rant, I’m not so sure that Annie’s the one with the coupon problems.”

“Plus, she knows more about freecycling and dumpster diving than even _I_ do, and I got into all that when I was in _New York_.” Brita pauses. “Well, okay. Definitely not _more_ than me, but she’s got what my old anarchist-urban-freecycling-feminists-and-allies collective use to call The Eye.”

“ _Dumpster diving_?”

“I _know_ right? Who’d think to put ‘freecycling’ and ‘Annie’ in the same sentence? Just last month she lugged home a service for eight that was missing only a couple of pieces.” Britta’s eyes widen to emphasize her point. “An _expensive_ service for eight. Said she sometimes checks out the dumpster behind that Decorative Homes store because she’s gotten some good stuff. Curtains with only a couple of easily fixed holes. A set of 600-thread-count sheets with only a few suspicious stains. Things like that.”

“From a _dumpster_?” Jeff sounds incredulous.

“Don’t knock it if you haven’t tried it,” Britta sniffs. “In our consumer-driven society, even people can be disposable. It would _shock you_ how all of your stuff gets made. Slave labor at slave wages. Recycle and reuse is the _only ethical_ option.”

“What does your latest rant about capitalism have to do with _dumpster diving_ for dishes again?” Jeff asks.

“That Annie’s more socially conscious than any of us realized.”

Jeff’s eyebrows lower. “Britta? This is Annie we’re talking about. She-who-likes-everything-just-so. She looks at Frankie like Frankie’s her personal Lord and Savior. The same Frankie who’d probably commit seppuku if you asked her to even look at a dumpster. Annie irons her _jeans_ for Christ’s sake. Does that sound like someone who’d go _dumpster diving_ if she had anything resembling better options?”

“Maybe you don’t know Annie as well as you think.”

For a brief moment, Britta sees an unreadable expression flit across Jeff’s face. Then, like someone flipped a light switch, Jeff’s shark smile is back and his hands are in the air. “I know what you’re doing.”

Britta huffs an irritated breath. “What am I doing now?”

“ _You_ are changing the subject, Summer School Girl.”

Britta lets out a frustrated _aaarrrggghhhh_ at that, since she most definitely is _not_ trying to distract Jeff from his latest bone of fascination, namely the whole summer school thing. Well, at least not in this very moment, even though that was the original goal. Not that it actually worked. She got distracted by the whole don’t-get-sucked-into-Jeff’s-baggage goal. The she got sucked into spilling her guts about what Annie put her through when setting up The Budget. She’s pretty sure if she kept her eyes on Operation Distract Jeff from Summer School, she would’ve managed to keep him good and distracted. She’s 100% sure of it.

Well, mostly sure.

Sometimes her conversations with Jeff take some seriously weird turns. It’s Jeff’s fault, of course. He’s always been an obstacle course of do-not-go-there, complete with bone-shattering white water rapids, subzero winds that cut to the bone, soul-devouring sink holes, and gigantic signs reading “trespassers will be shot without fair warning.” But ever since Borchert’s Lab, he’s somehow managed to get _even worse_.

“Hey! Service?” a customer shouts from the end of the bar.

Britta turns on her heel to attend to business while Jeff calls after her, “I’m not leaving this bar any time soon. Can’t dodge me all night.”

Britta ignores him as she takes the customer’s order (Corona with lime). As she takes the guy’s money, the customer grumbles about how she and her boyfriend need to tone it down.

“Not. My. Boyfriend,” Britta grits out. “He’s my annoyance.”

The customer has the temerity to grin at her. “And that’s how you get married. Keep the change. Save up for the honeymoon.”

It takes everything Britta has not to snarl at the guy, despite the fact he basically just tipped her 100%. Instead she flashes him a tight smile before turning back to Jeff. She needs to nip this shit in the bud _now_. She has a secondary plan for summer, and keeping Jeff off her ass is _vital_ to that plan.

By the time she returns to Jeff’s spot at the bar, whatever amusement he’s gained from her predicament has vanished. Instead, he’s thoughtfully staring into his now-drained glass. As she approaches he looks up.

“Sorry,” is all he says as he places the glass on the bar and waves once again in the direction of the scotches.

 _Fuck it,_ Britta thinks. She grabs one of the more expensive highland scotches and pours him a healthy dose, making a mental note to charge him for the cheaper Islay. It’s medicine and a spoonful of sugar, both.

She’s pretty sure there’s a metaphor in there somewhere.

Jeff takes a sip before placing the glass down on the bar. “I shouldn’t be getting on you for doing whatever it is you need to do to get out sooner rather than later.”

He shrugs. There’s something final and defeated about that action, Britta thinks. A year ago that same attitude sucked her in to the point that she _actually_ agreed to marry him.

But it’s different this time. This time she’s got a plan. This time she’s got a goal. This time she has her Garrett’s Wedding Realization. Hell, she’s even got The Budget.

This time she’s not staring down the barrel of yet another lonely failure and desperately looking for an escape.

_Fuck._

Jeff’s about to propose something stupid, she’s sure. Something where she’d have to take 10 steps back if she agreed to it. It won’t be marriage this time. It’ll more likely a floated possibility of repeating their second year, only not quite because this time no one would give a damn even if they screwed like bunnies at the foot of the Luis Guzman statue at high noon.

She mentally prepares herself for Jeff’s reaction for when she turns him down. While it’s unlikely he’ll go back to his pointy-faced smarm of that first year, she knows that he’s impossible to live with when he’s intent on getting his way. She’ll have to ban him from the bar on top of everything else.

He looks up at her then with a genuine smile.

Britta can feel her shoulders tighten as she waits for it.

“Here’s to a successful summer where you stay on budget and ace your class.” Jeff raises his glass to her in a toasting motion. “’Cause if you don’t, Annie’s going to give you ‘my-puppy-has-cancer’ look, and trust me when I tell you, you do _not_ want that on your conscience.”

Britta stupidly blinks at him before uttering a weak, “Unh, thank you?”

“So, what’s the class?”

Britta snaps out of the fog of surprise. “ _The Hidden Feminist Psychology of Fairytales._ ”

Jeff coughs a laugh. “That is _definitely_ you.”

“Actually, Annie suggested it,” Britta said.

Jeff’s eyebrows rise, as though intrigued.

“She said she didn’t take this class, but she did have the same professor for a different class just this past year,” Britta explains, although she’s not sure why she feels compelled to do so since Jeff didn’t actually ask anything. “Some class about Greek myths. She said the lesson on the duality of Keurig and Persimmon with respect to Hades meant a lot to her.”

“ _Keurig_? As in the coffeemaker?” Jeff blinks at her. “I’m pretty sure you have at least one of those names wrong.”

“I know it’s Keurig. Well, pretty sure.” Off Jeff’s doubtful look, Britta throws up her hands. “I don’t know! Maybe they named that consumerist horror show after Greek god of ecological disasters.”

“Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure Persimmon is wrong, too,” Jeff mutters.

“I’m pretty sure that’s right. I mean, it’s a fruit and the name had to come from somewhere,” Britta points out, pretty logically if she must say so herself. “Most words come from Greek, or Latin, or Germanic, or…”

“Seriously?” The way Jeff’s voice rises on the question sounds so much like Annie that Britta nearly asks if he and Annie pulled off a body-swap. “You know the roots of the English language?”

“I once dated someone who was a cunnilingus expert.”

Jeff chokes. “I think you mean _linguist_ , champ.”

Britta smiles triumphantly. “He was that, too.”

Her comeback has Jeff laughing hard enough that he has to grasp the edge of the bar to keep from falling off the stool. Britta resists the urge to let out of triumphant whoop. She got him _good._

As Jeff hiccoughs down from his laughter high, he says through gasping breaths. “Well, at least I know Hades is right. So that’s something.”

“Whatever,” Britta waves a hand. “I’m enjoying my class, _and_ I’m actually learning something. So, for the win, right?”

Jeff shakes his head in a way that’s almost fond. “Annie does have the eye when it comes to classes that actually teach something.”

Britta can feel her brain wrinkling as she realizes that Annie, despite practically being on the other side of the country, seems to be the unseen and unheard third party to their conversation.

And there it is, not for the first time.

That Question.

The one question she found balanced on the tip of her tongue once or twice since their escape from Borchert’s lab.

Britta swallows down the question _hard_. Not because she’s jealous, but more because she’s not sure how she’d feel about whatever answer Jeff might give, assuming he’d even answer her at all. Not to mention that asking would result in baggage-handling regardless of the answer, which again, she’s _not_ going to do.

Much as she doesn’t want to definitively know the answer to That Question, there’s a part of her that’s curious and wants to know the answer, even though she really kind of doesn’t. So she sidles up to That Question by asking a Different Question, figuring that it would be a safe half-way point between satisfying her curiosity while avoiding the possibility of getting sucked into a whirlpool of _someone’s_ drama.

An evasion is as good as an elbow to the ribs, and all that crap.

She picks up a rag and begins scrubbing at the bar. _Casual, casual, casual,_ her brain warns. “Speaking of which, have you talked to Annie at all?”

“We’ve Skyped. Twice. Just this past Sunday, in fact.” Jeff sips from his drink without looking at her. “I expect a full rundown of the latest adventures of Annie Edison, Junior G-Man, in a few days.”

Britta resists the urge to roll her eyes. An ice-cold wind from that direction. Weirdly it’s one that _doesn’t_ cut to the bone. Probably because whatever is behind it isn’t actually directed at her.

It also doesn’t answer That Question. So…hooray? Or boo? She really doesn’t know how she feels about it.

Then again, if she was being truly honest with herself, she can definitely get used to this long-time-friend-but-no-sharing-deep-dark-secrets level her relationship with Jeff has settled on. It’s…

Nice.

Yeah.

Definitely nice.

“ _Anyway_ , if you ever need a break from the usual Greendale madness, you’re more than welcome to take refuge in my office,” Jeff offers.

 _Crap!_ Britta snaps her eyes to Jeff.

He shrugs. “I don’t know how often I’ll actually be in the office since I plan to hang around campus as little as possible outside of class and office hours for students, which I’m _forced_ to have by the way, but any port in a storm, right?”

Britta treads carefully. “Thanks, but, ummm, I’m going to pass.”

If Jeff is stung by that, it doesn’t show. “You sure?”

“Yeah. There are these cool women in my class and they invited me to be part of their study group and we’re already had our first meeting. It’s okay. The study group, I mean. More than. In fact—”

Jeff holds up his hands. “Whoa! It’s okay. You don’t owe me an explanation. We’re good.”

Britta’s eyes suspiciously narrow. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Jeff shrugs, as if this sharp departure from their usual co-dependent patterns really _isn’t_ that big of a deal. “I get it. With everyone gone, you need to figure out who you are without the group.”

Hunh. Looks like Jeff got his own Garrett’s Wedding Realization somewhere along the way.

“Yeah. That. It’s my secret secondary plan for the summer. The timing seems ideal since I’m the only one in the apartment for the next few months.” Britta uncomfortably shrugs before adding. “Plus, it’s kind of nice to be in a study group where I’m not The Worst.”

Jeff responds with a crooked smile. “Pretty sure we all took turns wearing that particular title, even if no one wanted to admit it.” He pauses. “Although you pretty much own Buzzkill.”

“Shut up.”

“No. Really. You managed to rant about coupons, capitalism, _and_ Keurigs just in the past 15 minutes. It’s impressive in its own way.”

“Says the guy who thinks he’s the only sane man on campus, when really you’re a one-man cast full of crazy,” Britta shoots back.

“There it is. TVTropes talk. You _definitely_ had Abed as your roommate.”

“Annie made me study that stupid page,” Britta grumbles. “She said it was the best way to understand Abed when he starts inner monolog-ing.”

“Did it work?”

Britta scowls. “Yes,” she grudgingly admits.

“And not for nothing, I _am_ the last sane man,” Jeff argues. “Contrast and compare:  Craig. Duncan. _Chang_. And me. I win.”

“I’ll see your Chang, and raise you a Frankie,” Britta counters. “Checkmate!”

“Are we playing poker or chess?”

Britta sticks her tongue out. “Frankie beats _everyone_ on the sane front. I win, either way.”

Jeff shakes his head, smiles, and then finishes off his glass. “You always do.”

As Jeff lifts himself off the stool, Britta can’t help but add, “Look, even though I really want to do my own thing on campus, you’re more than welcome to come by the bar any time.”

Jeff pauses in opening up his wallet. “Yeah?”

“Well, duh-doy,” Britta answers. “We’re still friends, right? Just friends who are taking a little break from each other until the ground settles.”

Jeff tosses $30 on the bar, which not only covers the cost of the Islay and the Highland, but also provides a pretty decent tip for herself. Huh. Turns out she didn’t fool his scotch-honed palate even a little bit.

“Glad to hear you say that.” Jeff’s shark grin is back. “I’ll see you this Thursday. And every Thursday after.”

“Jeff, c’mon. It’s not like you have to make an appointment to come back.” Britta glances around the nearly empty bar. “It’s not like there’s a velvet rope out front with bouncer keeping the crowds away.”

The shark smile widens as Jeff places a hand over his heart. “But you _will_ need one. On Thursdays.”

Britta rolls her eyes. “Oh. I get it. It’s because you’ll be here as the big draw.”

“Well _that_. Along with the entire Greendale summer session teaching staff.”

Britta shakes her head. She couldn’t have heard that right. “Wait. Whut?”

Jeff sarcastically inhales through his teeth with wince as if he is already feeling her impending pain. “Remember how I said there were _two_ reasons why I stopped by, but that the main one could wait until I asked about you deciding to skinny dip into the summer school pool?”

Britta can feel the panic rising. “Wait. Hold on. _What happened to the Groggy Bucket_?”

“Weeeellllll the Groggy Bucket, more popularly known as the _Scummy_ Bucket for its charming ambiance of rat droppings and sticky, well, everything, burned to the ground. Arson.” Jeff looks positively gleeful. “Or, more specifically, arson in the name of committing insurance fraud.”

“The Monkey’s Paw is right down the street!” Britta protests.

“Turns out Greendale staffers are banned. Have been for the past eight years.” Jeff shrugs.

“Greendale teachers got banned. From the Monkey’s Paw.” Britta deadpans. “The same place that got busted for an illegal gambling ring involving cockroach races. How did they manage that one?”

“Couldn’t get the whole story,” Jeff airily replies. He’s _clearly_ enjoying this _way_ too much. “Something about getting caught fixing the cockroach races using sugar water and gasoline.” He pauses. “It didn’t end well.”

“NO! No way.” Britta starts shaking her head so fast that the she can practically feel her eyeballs rattle. “They’re not coming here! They can’t!”

“Too late! There was a vote!” Jeff’s full on _laughing_ at her right now. “And before you blame _me_ for this, you should know it was _Frankie’s_ idea.”

“WAT?”

“Apparently, Frankie wants to help you out. Financially. And she thinks this is the best way to do it short of actually handing you cash.”

“HOW DOES THIS ACTUALLY HELP ME?!?”

“Frankie’s under the misapprehension that Greendale’s elite educational staff can actually afford to tip.”

Britta’s had enough. She points to the door. “OUT! GET OUT!”

Jeff’s still grinning as he backs away in the direction of the exit. “Remember! Frankie’s the _sanest_ person at Greendale!”

Britta picks up the bar rag and ineffectively throws it at his head. “OUT!”

Jeff spins on his heel and races for the door, laughing all the way. “Don’t forget. We’ll all be stopping by this Thursday,” he manages to toss over his shoulder before ducking out the door. “Don’t forget to Chang-proof the place.”

“ASSHOLE!” Britta shouts after him.

There’s a very pregnant pause of stone-cold silence, like the universe is holding its breath.

“You know?” Mr.-Corona-with-lime pipes up from the end of the bar. “Any guy who’d subject you to Greendale teachers is _probably_ not a guy you want to marry.”

Britta thunks her head down on the bar in frustration.

“Definitely not,” she agrees.


End file.
